Fruit Loops- Remix
by Ms.Informed13
Summary: The blonde sighs out the last few words and Rachel hears heartbreak in her words, "Now after the buzz around this book quiets down I'll do it all over again. And there will be some new batch of literary saps telling me how my mangled heart is 'beautiful.'" AU Faberry threeshot (prequel to Fruit Loops- but also a stand alone story)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- This is the prequel to 'Fruit Loops' though you do not need to read that story before reading this one and I actually encourage you not to as 'Fruit Loops' will be rewritten into the conclusion of this story. So really don't read it, unless you want to, but maybe even then just wait until after this story is done...**

 **SO this is an AU Faberry threeshot**

 **This whole little endeavor was going to be called 'Fuck Beautiful' but since Fanfiction likes titles rated T the title comes from this quote-**

 **"That's always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they're pretty. It's like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste."**

 **― John Green, Paper Towns**

* * *

Quinn is revolutionary, Quinn is brilliant, she is raw, and she is outrage. Quinn is smiling politely while her agent, Carla is making a toast. Quinn is wearing cobalt blue because Carla says that it's a power color. Quinn thinks that Carla is full of shit because Carla is six feet three inches of tan legs and cutting smiles and every color is a power color for her. But Carla read her first shitty manuscript when Quinn was hardly out of college and she believed in Quinn, and Carla and her wife have had Quinn over for thanksgiving for the past two years because Carla doesn't believe in people being alone on holidays, and Carla is the closest thing to family that Quinn has, so Quinn is wearing cobalt blue even though she's half sure the dress must be washing out her complexion.

When Carla finishes her little toast and everyone claps politely, Quinn winds her way through the crowd to the bar. She orders a gin and tonic because it reminds her of her mother and she is feeling nostalgic.

The party is in the lobby of the publishing company and it's a small thing for New Years, but Carla is convinced that it's the perfect opportunity for Quinn to network. But when Quinn accepts her drink, she sends a look around the room at the group assembled- it's all writers and editors, publicists and interns who have given up the usual trashy college parties hoping that their dedication to the company will show through. Everyone has something to say, and Quinn doesn't want to hear any of it.

She swirls her drink and takes a sip, at the very least she's getting an open bar out of this whole evening.

Quinn isn't in the mood to is kiss some Random House exec's ass. She wrote her first poetry collection off her gut wrenching college years struggling to come out and stay out. The book floundered at first but after one of her Yale literature professors discovered it, it grew like a forest fire- the university finding every excuse to highlight her as an alum.

Now all that anybody wants to know is when her next book is coming out, has she been writing, what fresh blood will be dripping from her new poetry?

Quinn has been writing alright, but it's all shit. She hasn't written anything worth reading in ages and she's worried that she's a has been at twenty three after one book.

It's with this bitterness in mind that her attention is caught by a flash of brown hair and captivating green eyes. The woman orders a drink at the bar and spins around to catch Quinn's gaze, a smirk makes its way across her face and Quinn can feel a blush spreading already.

When she gets her drink, she takes a seductive sip and practically stalks over to Quinn, "I don't recognize you from around the office, and you're far too pretty to be an editor so you're either here as someone's date, or you're one of the elusive writers." The woman says boldly.

"Guilty, I'm a writer." Quinn laughs, "Or at least I pretend to be."

The brunette gets this little smirk, like there's an inside joke only she knows, "We're all pretending."

The woman is Melanie and she works for the publishing company, and Quinn learns that her little smirk defines her personality.

They date casually, a confusing on and off thing, Quinn hardly keeps from getting whiplash at how quickly their relationship changes. She does her very best not to get too attached, she knows that Mel isn't the commitment type, and she knows that she isn't the only girl that Mel is seeing.

But Quinn's feelings are quick and they're intense, and before she can really stop herself, she's in deep.

Until Valentine's Day a year later. Quinn has been doing well for herself, her book was released in the UK and she's spent her year writing various shorts and small poetry pieces that have run in large publications or anthologies. She writes some good poetry out of the angst of her relationship with Mel, she hates that it's one of the reasons she keeps coming back to the brunette.

Until the brunette doesn't come back. Quinn takes some of the money she's made off of a recent short story that ran in a well known publication and she buys Mel a pair of earrings. They're sterling silver with real diamonds, they're small enough that it doesn't put Quinn back at all and she knows before she even gives them to Mel that they're "Too much, Quinn. I can't accept these."

"It's just a pair of earrings Mel, it's valentines just take them."

The brunette shakes her head and puts the black velvet box on Quinn's nightstand, "You know I can't."

"Why?" Quinn knows it was a mistake, but she couldn't keep herself from this push.

"Because of what they represent."

"They don't represent anything."

Mel sighs with a sad smile, "You're a writer, Quinn. You know everything is a symbol or a metaphor or a turn of phrase and we aren't at earrings. We are maybe at a novelty beer kozy, or a drugstore box of chocolates."

"It's been a year."

Mel nods.

"We're never going to be at earrings, are we?"

"I thought you knew."

"I did." Quinn's lips pull tight as she keeps tears at bay, "I just didn't want to believe it."

Mel leaves, and Quinn never sees her again, not at the publication parties that Carla makes her go to, not at the clubs they used to frequent, not even when she has to stop by the publication office to meet with an editor.

Quinn turns her heartbreak into poetry. It's some of the best and the worst that she's written. She keeps the best, arranging what she already knows will be another outstanding book, the rest she shreds.

Carla is there and she refuses to let Quinn mope for any extended period of time and she and her wife set Quinn up, she goes on three terrible dates with three mediocre people before she puts her foot down. Carla ignores her completely and takes her chances with one last blind date.

Her name is Jennifer and they connect immediately. Jennifer is a lawyer and she is safe and she smiles reassuringly on their fourth date when Quinn asks her to be exclusive and says 'of course'.

Quinn finishes her second book and within the first two weeks, it surpasses what her first book sold in its first two months. Yale adds it to the list of freshman summer reading. Jennifer takes her shopping for a dress to wear at the party Carla is planning as a celebration.

She picks out this cute soft orange dress and sneaks into Quinn's dressing room when she tries it on.

"I don't know about this color." Quinn says, pulling at the skirt, "What do you think?"

"I think it makes you look incredibly sexy." Jennifer teases, easing Quinn's hands away and smoothing down the material. She takes a step back to appraise the blonde before nodding with a smile, "Yup, totally sexy." She decides, walking back into Quinn's space and pressing their lips together in a quick kiss.

That evening, Quinn has to bow to one of the inevitabilities of adult life- laundry. She lugs her hamper down to the basement, while she is loading her clothes into a machine Cute Brunette comes in with a friendly smile to collect her clothes from a dryer. Quinn has seen cute brunette every other Tuesday evening for the last few years ever since she moved to the apartment building.

On Wednesday she decides she will surprise Jennifer at work with a coffee to thank her for being so understanding the past few weeks while Quinn was going crazy over her book release.

On Wednesday they will break up.

* * *

 **A/N- I'll have the next chapter up soon!** **lmk what you think of this start.**


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel is trying. She is smiling the demure grin that she's perfected over these past two years because today is the first day of school and she is starting it off with her beginning choir class. The room is bursting at the seams, the risers with only enough space for thirty students are protesting under the excitement of nearly forty five freshmen, all of whom are here to collect their mandatory arts credit for graduation.

The bell rings and some of the students at least pretend to settle down, some continue on chatting, blatantly ignoring the authority she's trying to project.

"Everyone take your seats please, and we'll begin."

"Hey Ms!" One tall boy in the back of the room yells, "There ain't enough seats for us all."

"Right." Rachel gives the boy an appraising look, in her first year of teaching, the comment would have had her completely knocked off track, now she just smiles, "Feel free to utilize the extensive floor space."

There is a murmur as the students settle in, "My name is Ms. Berry, I just have a few classroom rules to go over and then we'll get started!"

The rest of her morning passes in the usual flurry of activity, but she is soon able to escape quickly to the safety of the teacher's lounge for lunch. She slides into a seat at her typical table beside Kurt, a freshman english teacher.

She takes one glance at his vaguely annoyed expression and chuckles, "That bad, huh?"

"Worse." He replies, crunching harshly into his salad, "I swear they're teaching them less and less at that middle school each year."

Rachel hums in sympathy, their school was one of the lowest achieving in the district.

"Besides, the school board has had this genius idea that they want freshmen reading poetry. Do you know how much freshmen hate poetry?"

"How much?" Rachel asks with a smile.

"So much!" Kurt half whines, "Thank god for contemporary poets, there's this one lesbian poet whose work is absolutely amazing, god I might change teams for her."

Rachel laughs, "Wouldn't help, you still won't have a shot if she's a lesbian."

"A boy can dream." He is quiet for a moment while they both eat, "Maybe you could just marry her for me." He offers only half joking.

"I'll consider it. In the meantime, I've got to talk to principal Figgins and see if I can get more chairs for my room."

"You mean they gave you even more students than last year?"

Rachel nods gravely, "My intro choir class has hit a record high enrollment. I'd be excited if it wasn't just because they cut the art department budget so there aren't as many drawing courses and I'm taking the overflow."

"Take the wins where you get them." Kurt smiles.

Rachel's days bleed together. She teaches kids who don't want to be there anymore than she wants to force them to be there, she stays after school for glee club practices, and play rehearsals, she gets volunteered for fundraisers and extra detention shifts and the PTA because she is one of the newer teachers.

She goes home to her small apartment on the top floor of a dilapidated building. She cooks with fresh food that makes her apartment bright, and she does her laundry every Tuesday night. She is amazed that the machines in the basement haven't given out so far.

She isn't where she thought she would be, but she knows that what she's doing now is so important.

…

On Wednesday Quinn decides to surprise Jen at work because she was a monster for the past couple of weeks while her book underwent last minute change after last minute change. It's not the first time that she's stopped by the law firm where Jennifer works during the day, but normally the brunette knows that she's coming.

She adjusts the coffee cups and pushes the elevator button for the sixth floor, tapping her foot impatiently while the lift moves. When it stops she checks Jennifer's office and frowns upon finding that it's empty. She wanders down the hall a bit until she finds one of the interns she recognizes from the last office party that Jennifer had talked her into.

"Hey, Tim!" She says, making the law student jump, "Do you know where Jen is?"

"I think I saw her headed towards the copy room." He offers, "Down the hall past the bathrooms on the left."

"Thanks."

Quinn takes her time walking down the hall until she sees the door with a plaque which reads 'Copy Room'. She opens the door with her elbow and stops short.

Jennifer is inside, just like the intern had said she would be, but she's not alone. She's attached at the lips to a redhead Quinn vaguely recognizes as one of the lawyers in the firm. They spring apart when the door hits the opposite wall, both whipping towards the entryway.

Jen has the guiltiest expression on her face and for some reason it's weirdly satisfying to Quinn that at least she has the decency to look guilty, "I brought you a coffee, I just wanted to thank you for being such a great supportive girlfriend this past month." Quinn says venomously.

The redhead's expression grows incredulous, "Girlfriend? You told me you broke up with her!"

Jennifer stalls out for a moment, trying to find a reply, "I know, and it's just-"

"Save it." The redhead says, storming from the copy room.

Jennifer shoots a lingering look at Quinn before leaving the room too, "Monica, please let me explain."

Quinn is frozen for a minute. She has an urge to destroy something, she drops the two coffee she's holding in the trashcan beside the door and before she can think better of it, she pulls her right arm back and rockets it at the wall.

The drywall seems to laugh back at her while she cradles her newly aching hand and slinks from the office.

Carla calls her later to ask about inviting her old editor to the party, within the first thirty seconds of the phone call she knows that something is wrong.

"What's happened?" Carla demands.

"It's nothing."

"You're a terrible liar." Carla accuses, "I'm coming over."

"No, you don't have to bother."

"Too late, I'll be there in twenty minutes, make yourself decent."

Carla hangs up before Quinn can try to talk her out of coming. It takes barely over ten minutes for there to be a loud rap on her door. Quinn looks over her old sweats and t-shirt that she threw on after getting home from discovering Jennifer's infidelity and she decides that Carla's seen her in worse.

She opens the door to reveal her concerned agent, looking as put together as always despite it being nearly ten in the evening. Carla takes one look at Quinn and smiles, "You look like shit, Fabray."

"You always know what to say to make a girl feel special." The blonde sasses, standing aside so Carla can come into the apartment.

"So what's happened?" Carla asks, making her way through Quinn's apartment to the fridge. She pulls out a beer, "Want one?"

The blonde shakes her head at her agent, and goes back to her moping spot- the couch, "Make yourself at home."

Carla gets Quinn a beer anyway and drops beside her on the couch, "Now spill, what's wrong?"

"Jennifer cheated on me."

Carla takes the news in stride, "You can do much better than her. Just wait for your party this weekend, you'll have girls lining up out the door."

Quinn mopes, she knows that she's being insufferable but just for a little bit she doesn't want to have to be an adult, "I don't want a line of women. I just want one woman who's not going to screw half of New York while supposedly dating me."

"Oh honey." Carla sighs, patting Quinn's shoulder. She knows that being in two consecutive relationships that failed ultimately due to the lack of exclusivity from Quinn's partner must have really done a number to the girl, "On the bright side, your book is doing smashingly well."

Quinn manages a pathetic laugh and takes the extra beer that Carla had gotten from the fridge, "Well that's wonderful. Can we just call off the whole party thing? I'm not in the celebrating mood."

"Not a chance, kid." Carla smiles, standing from the couch. Having coaxed a laugh from Quinn, she knows that her work cheering the blonde up was successful, "Tell you what, I'll even bring the party to you. We can have it on the roof of your building, it'll be small and intimate, those literature buffs will eat that shit up."

"I don't know-"

"It'll be great." Carla interrupts with her usual confidence, "Assuming the whole building doesn't collapse." She adds, shooting a look at the exposed wiring in the living room, "I don't know why you insist on living in this pit, with what you made on this book alone you could afford a little brownstone in a better neighborhood."

Quinn smirks, glad for the distraction even if it's a conversation they've had before, "I've told you, I like the character of the building."

"Yeah, condemned trash pit is such a hot aesthetic these days."

"Get out of here, Weir." Quinn chuckles, shoving Carla towards the door.

"This party is happening whether you want it to or not, Fabray." She gives as a final warning before backing out of the apartment with a teasing grin in place.

* * *

 **A/N- Thanks for reading/ reviewing, more to come soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn Fabray isn't drunk. Quinn isn't drunk but she desperately wants to be as her publicist's wife's cousin who works for some big name newspaper praises the raw beauty of her new poetry collection.

But this is her party and it's bohemian and supposed to be a good publicity move because her new book has only been out for a couple of weeks but the sales are through the roof, far surpassing what her first book did in its first couple of months. .

Quinn smiles and pulls at the skirt of her dress absently, it's not comfortable, and she still doesn't like the color. It's the one Jennifer had bought for her, Carla told her she should still wear it, some sort of closure thing like she was doing better now without the brunette. Like she was winning the breakup, then again it's not hard to win when the competition is a cheating bitch.

Quinn shakes her head, trying to clear it of the negative thoughts. No, Quinn wouldn't be bitter, Quinn is the bigger woman, Quinn is not holding a grudge, Quinn is smiling at whatever James- or was it Jake- said about his favorite poem from her publication and Quinn excuses herself ungracefully from the conversation.

She takes a sweeping glance of the party, it's rough and it's cramped. It's a far cry from the fancy parties at the publicist's office that Quinn is used to as a celebration for a novel, or a holiday, or anything really.

Quinn sneaks along the edge of the party to the makeshift bar area (not an actual bar with a bartender, but a 'rustic' table with booze laid out like a college party because it was fitting with the small intimate feel of the theme Carla had said). Quinn scoffs to herself, intimate her ass, the party was cramped and uncomfortable and if she had to listen to one more person talk about her writing she would jump.

She had already talked to all the important people, the man from the publishing company who she had worked closely with, her editor, and Carla. Quinn sees no reason to stay so she grabs a half empty bottle of Absolut and inconspicuously steps over the edge of the roof onto the fire escape.

Her apartment was only 3 floors down from the roof, but she knew better than to stray too far from the party should Carla come looking for her. She settles on the steps just above the landing for the top floor and takes a sip from the bottle before casting a look around at the city.

It's late and New York is alive with lights and noise.

There's some shouting from the street below that draws Quinn's attention. She pokes her head over the rail to see two taxis parked haphazardly, the drivers out on the street yelling at eachother.

"What the fuck?"

Quinn's head snaps around at the question to see a petite brunette leaning out the window of the top floor apartment leading to the fire escape. Quinn recognizes her instantly, "Cute Brunette!" Quinn blurts before she can stop herself. Yeah, maybe she's a bit intoxicated.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, there's a taxi driver brawl down there." Quinn says flatly, inclining her head down towards the street and astutely pretending that it's totally normal to have a stranger sitting on the fire escape outside your window.

The brunette rakes a glance up and down Quinn, her eyes landing on the bottle of vodka, and her head shaking subtly.

"I'm not a drunk, if that's what you're thinking." Quinn defends, "I'm not even drunk now. I'm hiding."

"From what?"

Quinn points up at the roof where the music and chatter is audible, "Party." The brunette smiles just the slightest bit and Quinn decides to push her luck, "I could use a drinking partner."

The woman regards Quinn, "I don't even know who you are."

Quinn cocks her head to the side, "Every other Tuesday night, laundry room."

Recognition flashes across the brunette's face, "Right, you live in the building too. Unless you've been sneaking in for the last few years to use the washing machines."

Quinn smiles broadly and shakes her hair out of her face, "I'm Quinn Fabray. I live in apartment 6C, and I promise I'm not a serial killer."

The brunette stares Quinn down for a moment longer before seemingly throwing caution to the winds and climbing out her window to sit beside her on the step.

"And you are?" Quinn asks.

The brunette smiles, "Rachel Berry. I live in 9F and I'm also not a serial killer."

Quinn laughs, "Nice to make your acquaintance officially, Ms. Berry." She hands over the bottle and watches shamelessly when Rachel raises it to her lips and takes a sip.

"So, Quinn." She begins when she swallows, "Do you often drink outside of strangers' windows in the middle of the night?"

"No." Quinn replies, "Do you often join them?"

"No."

They sit in amicable silence for a while before Quinn breaks it, "Wanna hear a secret?"

"Sure."

"Since I see you everytime I do my laundry but I didn't know your name till now, I would call you 'Cute Brunette' in my head." Quinn says with a little blush.

Rachel chuckles softly, this woman was ridiculous. Adorable and ridiculous, "Why are you hiding from the party?"

"Truthfully, I didn't care much for the topic of conversation."

Rachel raises an interested eyebrow, "And what was that?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Berry."

The brunette just shrugs.

"I'm a writer, poetry mainly and shorts. It's a party for my new book."

"Unkind critics?"

"No, they're all glowing reviews so far."

Rachel sends her a small smile, "Then what's the problem."

Quinn takes another sip, wincing as the alcohol burns down her throat, "I'm always the person who get's left behind. You know in movies where the main actor is with this woman who isn't right for him that the whole audience is rooting against and then the lead actress comes in, does some indignant yelling and then storms out. Then the man follows her apologizing, the scene goes black and suddenly it's five years later and they have 2.5 kids and a house in the suburbs."

Rachel is watching the shadows pass across Quinn's face while she talks, "I'm the woman the actor leaves when he chases his future wife. I'm the fucking human leftovers. At least that's what I wrote that stupid book on the fumes of, I poured my heartbreak and my resentment and every shit feeling I had for the last two years into a fucking manuscript and all those buttoned up flannel, thick framed glasses, craft beer, long beard, hipsters call it beautiful."

The way Quinn talks is like poetry, soft and swelling, cresting and breaking, and it's no wonder to Rachel how people would find this beautiful.

Quinn drags a tired hand through her hair, ruffling the short chop. Her fingers are long and graceful and Rachel finds herself hoping that at one point Quinn Fabray learned to play the piano. She's backlit by the city and the harsh night lights cast a halo around her head.

"The movies don't ever tell you what happens to that woman so let me clue you in. She goes home, gets drunk, and does it all over again. She stupidly believes that next time she'll be the one he actually wants, she believes that she can find someone to love, she fucking tries to believe. But the audience always needs someone to root against. I'm fucking tired of believing."

The blonde sighs out the last few words and Rachel hears real heartbreak in her words, "Now after the buzz around this book quiets down I'll do it all over again. And there will be some new batch of literary saps telling me how my mangled heart is 'beautiful.'"

Rachel listens to this all before rendering her judgement, "Boo fucking hoo."

"Excuse me?" Quinn asks, her head snapping to the brunette beside her.

"You heard me." Rachel says with a gentle smile, "You're at least a relatively successful writer with a stable platform and you're out here drinking in the middle of the night because the hipsters think that your writing is beautiful. You're running away from your own party because the reviews are too good."

Rachel pauses and takes a sip from the bottle, handing it back to Quinn, "I'm a high school music teacher in a failing inner city school who's arts budget is shrinking by the day. I teach band, choir, orchestra, and theatre because over half the student body scores below 16 on the ACT and the school board can't justify more than one arts teacher when those scores keep dropping." She looks clearly at Quinn, "You have a platform, don't waste it being the poor tortured artist whose fans don't understand her."

Quinn stares sidelong at Rachel for a long moment it's been awhile since anyone but her high school friend Santana called her out like this. She doesn't know why but it feels good, like Rachel is stripping away her defenses, like she really sees Quinn. A slow smile cracks across her face, "I like you, Berry. We should do this more often."

Rachel rolls her eyes, "Don't make a habit of drinking outside my window."

"Maybe next time we could do this on the other side of the glass."

Rachel waits a moment, appraising Quinn, "Maybe."

* * *

 **A/N- This chapter was the Fruit Loops original rewritten. Probably the end of this story, mayhap there will be an epilogue. Thank you for reading/ reviewing/ keeping with this little fruity adventure.**


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn waits exactly four days before throws caution to the winds and says 'fuck it'. Literally.

She gets home after a day of going through reviews Carla has picked out as potentials to go on the back of the next reprint of her book. She pulls on a pair of skinny jeans, and an oversized burgundy sweater.

She finds a nice bottle of red wine she had been saving to pair with a nice pasta dish she got too lazy to make, and she opens her window.

The evening air is crisp and cool and it ruffles Quinn's hair a little as she eases herself out onto the fire escape and climbs up three stories. When she reaches her destination, she tries not to overthink it. She peeks in the window and sees Rachel sitting pretzeled on a couch with a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of her. Quinn grins and raps her knuckles lightly against the glass. Her grin blooms into a wide smile when she sees Rachel look up, she's wearing a pair of thick framed glasses and her hair is gathered on top of her head in a messy bun.

Rachel shakes her head but walks over to the window with amusement playing at the corners of her lips. She doesn't open the window just yet but she watches Quinn with interest, the blonde raises the bottle of wine as a peace offering.  
Rachel laughs and undoes the latch, pushing the window up, "I thought I told you not to make a habit of drinking on my fire escape."

"I haven't started drinking yet." Quinn replies cheekily

Rachel laughs.

"So um, it's kind of windy out here." The blonde hedges.

Rachel rolls her eyes, "Would you like to come in?"

"Well if you're offering." Quinn jokes, handing Rachel the bottle and swinging into the apartment.

"Have a seat, I'll get some glasses." Rachel says waving a hand at her couch and going towards where Quinn assumes the kitchen is. She returns with the bottle open and two wine glasses to find Quinn sitting on her couch as if she owns the place.

The blonde watches her pour out the wine, thinking briefly about her own life. She doesn't own wine glasses, that's probably something she should own at this point in her life, isn't it? She's nearly twenty seven and she still drinks wine out of the mismatched glasses collection she's picked up over the years.

It's something that Carla teases her about incessantly.

"You might have come through the door." Rachel says, sitting beside Quinn and pouring them both a glass.

"That doesn't make for quite as dramatic of an entrance." Quinn smirks, "So, what are we doing tonight?"

Rachel cannot believe this woman who she's hardly met and who has seamlessly inserted herself into her Wednesday night, "I am grading a diagnostic quiz."

"Gimmie a stack!" Quinn perks up.

"No."  
"Come on, it's just a diagnostic. I can totally help out!"

Rachel appraises her for a moment before giving in, "Fine. But only because I've got nearly ninety of these to do."

"Damn, how many students do you have?" Quinn takes the stack that Rachel hands her along with an answer key and a red pen.

"A lot." Rachel deadpans.

Quinn and Rachel spend the night grading Rachel's students' tests and laughing together. When it gets late and Quinn reluctantly makes her way to the door, Rachel stops her with a smile and a gentle hand on her arm, "Maybe next time you could come in through the door."

"Yeah, maybe.

…

Next time Quinn does use the door. She shows up two days later with a smirk and a tight top that hugs her in all the right places, "Get dressed, Berry. We're going out!"

Rachel shakes her head, she should have expected nothing less, "Only because it's not a school night."

She puts on a dress she hasn't worn in too long of a time, and lets Quinn take her out to a club with music too loud and people too young.

The blonde makes a habit of dropping in unannounced, they date simply and Quinn practically makes a second home on Rachel's couch. She writes poetry, it's light and it's easy and she tries to remember a time when her words were this soft.

She sends in another poetry collection to Carla and it gets fast tracked to publication easily. It's older poems, about her angst of growing up in an abusive home, about struggling to reconcile her sexuality with her religion, about her depression. When she gets some copies as an early release she mails them out. One to Frannie who lives in San Francisco with her husband and new son, one to her mother still in Ohio, one to Santana on the upper East Side, and one to her father. She hand delivers one to Rachel.

The brunette reads it quickly and gives Quinn a stellar review.

Her father sends it back. The only indication that he's looked at it is three words scrawled under the dedication. She knew it was a bad idea, she knew she shouldn't do it, even as she had typed out the words-

'I dedicate this book to my father, the man who made me into the woman I am today.'

But she's never been good at doing the things she should.

Russell has written in his cramped scrawl- Grow up Quinn.

The blonde goes to Rachel's apartment the night she gets that package. They've been together for a few months and Rachel doesn't need to ask if something's wrong when she sees the desperation in Quinn's eyes. She just steps aside and lets out a little squeak of surprise when Quinn backs her up against the door and kisses her harshly.

Rachel meets her intensity and tries to be what Quinn needs. She holds the blonde later, in her bed, cards her fingers through the taller woman's hair and kisses her temple softly.

In the morning, she wakes up before Quinn and tries to make her breakfast. It's an absolutely valiant effort until she burns the toast and is so preoccupied with trying to air out the smoke that she lets the eggs burn too.

By the time that Quinn gets up, all that's left of her attempt is lingering smoke, a fresh pot of coffee, and a sheepish smile.

"Looks like it's a cereal day." Quinn laughs.

Rachel smiles and opens a cabinet, "I've got Raisin Bran and Cheerios."

"Really? What are you, eighty?" Quinn teases, pulling out two bowls.

"What's wrong with my cereal selection?"

"Nobody actually likes Raisin Bran."

Rachel rolls her eyes, "You're just too picky about having fruit with other things."

"It's criminal to do that to perfectly good raisins!"

"Fine then, you can go down three flights of stairs and get your own cereal." Rachel smirks, pouring Raisin Bran for herself, "What kind of cereal do you eat?"

"Growing up cereal was the Sunday treat, after church our Mom would let us have a big bowl of whatever sugary cereal we wanted. My favorite was Fruit Loops, but Frannie liked Frosted Flakes so that's what we ended up getting most of the time."

Rachel smiles gently, it's not often that Quinn opens up so willingly like this about her past. She knows by now better than to make a big deal of it, "Unfortunately I'm fresh out of your teeth rotting favorites."

Quinn sighs dramatically, "I guess I'll settle for your utterly boring Cheerios."

"Think of it this way, they're basically Fruit Loops, just not colored."

"Yeah, basically the same thing." Quinn deadpans.

Rachel bumps Quinn's hips with hers on her way to sit down with her breakfast, "Feel free to put a box of whatever cereal you want in my cupboard."

"Did you just ask me to move my breakfast supplies in with you?" Quinn asks cheekily.

Rachel laughs, "I did, and it's a very serious commitment so I hope you're up to it."

"For you, I'll move in two boxes."

* * *

 **A/N- The end. Thanks for reading/ reviewing. Drop a final review, give me a suggestion for another story you'd like to see.**


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